


Care Suitable For Angels

by summerartist



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly Gen, gross medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 00:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21419221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerartist/pseuds/summerartist
Summary: Aziraphale ends up with injuries in some embarrassing places.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	Care Suitable For Angels

Aziraphale’s corporation was sweating and he took in a shuddering breath, leaning against the brick wall behind him. The cover of darkness had largely played a part in the confrontation. It had been a close call.

Thankfully, the demon he had been pursuing had done nothing more than shoot a jet of warm air at his retreating back. The demon seemed to give up quickly after that, muttering to itself about “blessed Earth spies” before melting back into the shadows.

Aziraphale had felt warmth clip the crease of his thigh during the onslaught. He ran shaky hands over the area, inspecting his ethereal form for damage. There was no lingering taint from Hell and the angel found a relieved smile overtaking his features. While it seemed that Michael had sent him on a fruitless chase, at least nothing worse had occurred. The other side had not been planning anything new, merely guarding an ancient portal to Hell that went rather deeper than the others.

Aziraphale frowned as he felt a sudden sharp sting of discomfort from his corporation. His thigh smarted and the pain leached up higher to the side of his groin. Not a harmless jet of air then.

“Oh blast,” Aziraphale hissed.

Aziraphale had seen all manner of warfare so he knew that shelling could strike all parts of the body, not just the photogenic areas as captured in cinema. He wrapped healing hands around his thigh again and wedged two fingers over the sting near his crotch. Nothing happened. He swallowed, resolving to fix it once he was safely back in Soho. It seemed that he was going to be utilizing his long since dormant skills as a field medic and healer.

* * *

The injuries had puzzled him. There had been no broken skin or spiritual damage, only three reddened welts. Two of them were nestled in the delicate inseam of his leg and he tried healing them again to no avail. He ended up disinfecting them and placing small bandages over all three. Maybe he would consult some of his medical texts on the conventional means of caring for welts, but in the meantime he had other things to think about. For instance, how was he going to tell Michael that her lead was likely a result of false information due to a confused informant. And then there was that meeting with Crowley in a couple of days at St. James’s Park.

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he became distracted by the thought of seeing the demon again. The last time had led to an extra trip to his favorite sushi restaurant after feeding the ducks. They had passed the time enjoyably, engaged in discussion over their favorite works in various media.

The angel became occupied with preparing for his other plans. While the results of Aziraphale’s escapades still unsettled him, he found that they were manageable enough. Already, he let the residual emotions from the encounter fade away with a brusqueness that was far more welcome.

* * *

Aziraphale was late. The demon jiggled his knee up and down as he waited on their usual bench. He blew out a breath and let his head fall back, watching the birds flutter high overhead. The angel rarely kept him waiting so he was hardly going to complain once he saw him, mayhap tease him a bit though.

Crowley nearly jumped up when the subject of his thoughts appeared directly in front of him. They rarely did miracling into each other’s peripherals like that.

“Oh! Do forgive the abruptness. I’m afraid I rather got caught up in something,” Aziraphale placated him as he moved to sit down.

Crowley regarded him with a slightly bewildered expression. The angel smoothed his hands over his lap as he sat and tried to engage Crowley in discussion, as if the manner of his arrival had been nothing out of the ordinary. His attempts were quickly interrupted.

“What were you up to, then?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale swallowed. “There was a slight hang up, that’s all.”

The angel shifted on the bench. Crowley seemed to let the moment pass after a curious pause, but he did not attempt to dig deeper. Instead, he brought up the recent political unrest in multiple countries. While it had been quite a few years since the last world war, they had always studied the general political atmosphere for any variances. Aziraphale found himself too distracted by his current predicament to pay much attention. He gave an occasional grunt of acknowledgment, but listened to the demon talk for the most part.

“You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Aziraphale gave a start. “Oh, gun laws...Parliament...and, uh...what was that bit about South Africa?”

Crowley sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Look, if you need to meet again sometime next week we can arrange that.”

Aziraphale felt his gut clench at dragging Crowley out of his flat unnecessarily. He scratched at his leg, wishing that he could really get in there and target the irritated areas. He had to settle for skirting around the issue.

His squirming was already capturing the attention of the demon, who was straightening up from his relaxed posture. Crowley leaned in, gazing at him with narrowed eyes. Then his nose twitched. Aziraphale watched with a sinking feeling as the demon started sniffing the air.

“There’s something that doesn’t smell right about you.”

Aziraphale shied away from him. He had forgotten how the demon had a nose like a bloodhound when it came to spiritual matters. “Oh, probably just need to give my coat a good airing. The smog, you now. I had the same problem in 1760 when Pollution took over.”

Crowley was already shaking his head. “This smells different to Pollution, related maybe.” His nostrils flared and he scowled. “You haven’t run into trouble lately, have you?”

Aziraphale gave an off-pitch chuckle. “Me? Why ever would you think that? Trouble...as if I could get into trouble in Soho.”

His tittering laugh trailed off. He shifted and felt a warm wetness seep over the skin of his leg.

“Ah, perhaps we really should continue this next week.” Aziraphale rose. “I’m feeling quite put out with the weather we’ve been having.”

“We haven’t been having any weather,” Crowley pointed out. “But I’ll give you a lift back if you like.”

“That...” Unfortunately, Aziraphale could not think of a reason to refuse. “...would be most welcome. Thank you.”

Crowley escorted him to his shiny and well-loved Bentley. They got in, Crowley already fiddling with the radio to turn it to a different station. As soon as Aziraphale sat down, he felt the liquid squish and seep into his trousers. He stammered.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. When Aziraphale swallowed any words or further sounds, the demon simply shrugged and started the car. They continued down the road, hitting only a few pockets of traffic. It was a slow day and they arrived back at the bookshop in record time.

When Aziraphale got out of the car, he swiped his hand in a quick movement above the seat. Crowley turned like he had caught the faint whiff of a miracle. With Aziraphale out of the car, the demon reached his hand over the seat.

“Crowley, don’t-!” Aziraphale watched with mounting trepidation as Crowley did a sensory sweep over the area.

Crowley hissed, emerging from his side of the car and coming over to him. “We need to talk.”

The demon gently ushered him forward into the bookshop. Aziraphale allowed the guidance but broke away from him once they had entered the safe confines of his domain.

“What did you want to talk about?” Aziraphale tidied away a couple of thick volumes he had left out. He had switched to a more business-like facade as if Crowley had come here simply to have a casual word.

“You performed a miracle on the Bentley.”

Aziraphale was unfazed. “Yes, and I’ve done so dozens of times. Our only rule was to keep the miracles within reason.”

“It reeked of Pestilence, Aziraphale.”

“Pestilence?” Aziraphale fumbled with the book he had been holding. “I don’t understand.”

Crowley heaved a sigh. He pulled up a chair to sit backwards upon, facing him. “I think it’s time you told me what’s going on.”

Aziraphale released a breath he hadn’t been aware he had been holding and finally recounted the tale of his escapades. Crowley let him complete his story without any interruptions. He had not removed his glasses, so his expression remained nearly inscrutable. To someone as familiar with Crowley as Aziraphale was, however, the stress lines near the demon’s eyes were clearly visible.

“So that’s it then. They left you alone after the first attack?” Crowley inquired.

“Yes, though I’m not sure whether or not they got a glimpse of me beyond my back when I left,” Aziraphale shuffled in place. “No matter, I’ve fulfilled Heaven’s objective and got a good look at what they were guarding.”

Crowley rose out of the chair and circled around the angel. “So, just the leg?”

Aziraphale twitched.

“It could potentially discorporate you if the wounds are serious enough. Anyone affiliated with Pestilence is powerful in the physical realm and it’s going to take some effort to get the infection out. I’ll help you,” Crowley promised.

“There’s no need-”

“There’s a need,” Crowley said seriously. He started looking around. “We shouldn’t do this here out in the open. Do you still have that little storeroom upstairs with the camping mattress?”

“Yes, but I don’t see how that’s going to-” Aziraphale was interrupted by Crowley gently tugging on his arm while the downstairs warped around them.

They arrived with a faint ‘pop’ and Crowley swiftly placed aside his books that had been on the mattress. Aziraphale watched him, thinking that surely this wasn’t leading to where he thought it was going. Well, Crowley did like to transform up here sometimes. Perhaps he was merely-

“Have a seat. We should be more comfortable up here,” Crowley directed him.

“My dear fellow, I really do have it handled,” Aziraphale assured him. While it was sweet that Crowley had offered to assist him with this, he could hardly mean it once he found out what helping entailed. “Besides, they’re in a tender spot.”

“Just a corporation, innit?” Crowley said casually as he miracled over a med kit. “I’ll be careful.”

Aziraphale sighed and took the offered seat. He winced as he felt something give and more fluid leak over him. His already saturated clothing was unlikely to be acting as a barrier anymore and he knew that he was staining the mattress.

“Here, just-” Crowley waved a hand and suddenly Aziraphale was left in his old fashioned underthings on his lower half.

Instead of showing an embarrassed reaction, Aziraphale puffed himself up. “What did you just do to my trousers? And the shoes?”

“They’re in the ether,” Crowley assured him. “Could you just worry about yourself for a moment and let me see the damage?”

Crowley took off his glasses and waited while Aziraphale hiked up his leg a little, still keeping it tucked away from the demon.

“Oh bother,” Aziraphale muttered.

One of the bandages had slipped loose and sticky residue covered nearly the entirety of his thigh. The skin was inflamed and the swelling sharply outlined the site of the two marks. He had only managed to exacerbate the issue and already he was tempted to start scratching away at the irritation.

“Aziraphale, let me see,” Crowley sounded exasperated.

There was something in Crowley’s gaze that gave Aziraphale reason to pause. As he hesitated, he felt the demon place a gentle hand upon his ankle. The angel lifted his leg a little. Crowley squinted and Aziraphale was suddenly aware that he was in his undergarments with a demon extremely close by.

Crowley lifted up the heel of his foot. “Up, up. I can hardly see anything.”

Aziraphale was beginning to feel like an overturned turtle as Crowley exposed the cuts to the meat of his thigh. His nimble fingers ripped off the other bandage and Aziraphale could feel the viscous fluid flow down. He made a sound and Crowley swiftly miracled the wound discharge away. He did the same to the other weeping wound.

“It’s alright, angel. I’ve got it,” Crowley was speaking in a strangely confident tone.

Aziraphale tilted his head, reading his reaction. “Oh,” while the itching had mostly left him, he could feel a deep sort of ache. He attempted to look for himself.

What he found made him go silent and Crowley lightly tapped his thigh, spreading a chill through the damaged limb.

“Just let me take care of it. Lie back,” Crowley soothed.

Feeling a little numb, Aziraphale did as was requested. He held onto the back of his knee to afford the demon better access. He could feel a sort of tickling sensation as Crowley reached to gather the residue left by Pestilence in his corporation. The matter was ejected with infinite care. Aziraphale kept his gaze upon his healer as Crowley disposed of the residue and set to work tending the physical marks.

“This is going to sting,” Crowley warned as he soaked a clean cloth in some rubbing alcohol.

It was nearly an art form, the way Crowley poured the alcohol out and patted down the injuries. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Aziraphale was momentarily caught up in watching him. His trance was abruptly broken by Crowley asking more questions.

“That’s all of them, right? Just the two?”

Aziraphale squirmed.

“Angel,” Crowley growled.

“I’ll get it. It’s not as bad as the others,” Aziraphale promised.

The look Crowley gave him made the angel sigh. Aziraphale let his legs fall open and he tugged up the edge of his undergarments to reveal the last of the damage. It was extremely close to his Effort, but he swallowed any qualms over letting Crowley take care of it.

Crowley said nothing more as he treated the gouge like he had the others. He rifled through the medical kit afterward, looking for proper bandages. What he found must not have been up to his standards, for he ended up miracling up bandages embedded with silver.

Aziraphale frowned at the extravagant choice, but did not comment as he knew that silver worked as an excellent guard against infection. At least the demon hadn’t attempted to smother the area in honey. His corporation was feeling uncomfortable enough as it is.

“I don’t think it reached past the muscle, but you’ll be wanting to keep an eye on them. Let me know if they get any worse,” Crowley told him.

Crowley pulled his clothes out of the ether and handed them back. Crowley left Aziraphale to dress as he swiftly tidied up and beat feet. The intimacy of the whole situation must have been dawning on him like it had been on Aziraphale.

The Principality put on his trousers and shoes, face a bit scarlet. He couldn’t believe that he had allowed his guard down enough for this, and most shockingly of all, Crowley had treated him as if his corporation was deserving of proper care. It was like the attention one would give a human.

After arranging his clothes back in order, the angel set about making them some tea. Crowley had not left the shop yet, lingering to ask him about the pain. They both agreed that in a few days time Aziraphale should be healed up enough to seal up the gouges with a miracle. In the meantime, Crowley hovered, just a little bit. Aziraphale allowed it.

Michael might not have cared about the outcome of the mission, but there was someone who did, even if the being in question teased him about his outdated underthings.

The End.


End file.
